La Lune pleine Elevée
by c. sherwood
Summary: Full Moon Risen.Prequel to Lupine. Remus's life with his foster mother after his real mother leaves him, and his years at Hogwarts. MWPP. Eventual SBRL, JPLE, PPOC.
1. Prologue

Title: La Lune pleine Elevée (Full Moon Risen)

Rating: T

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the brilliant mind behind the bones of this. I'm just the reasonably okay mind who's providing the rest.

A/N: You'd think someday I'd just stop liking to write Remus stories...not happening yet, though. Moony forever. (I think the French sounded good, though slightly confusing once I mixed it with the English. Thank God for the translator on my desktop.)

Prologue

The moon shone blades through the splintered branches of the forest as the boy nestled deeper into the wolf-fur, the creature's even breath making his eyes flicker sleepily. He vaguely remembered wondering why Maman didn't want him to go out at night, when everything seemed so unearthly and beautiful. The moonlight mixed with the silence, making shadows dance through his mind.

"Mon fils! My son!"

He stirred at the sound of his mother's voice, unusually high and desperate. As he started to stand, the wolf's growl turned feral, hungry. The last things he remembered were the flash of white teeth and the sickly, metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

* * *

"Lex yeux de mes fils ont changé... 

My son's eyes have changed...

Mon fils. Il est allé...

My son. He is gone..."

* * *

He didn't like cages. The metal was cold when he touched it and it hurt. He didn't understand what was wrong, or why his mother had cried but left him anyway. 

As the lights in the room dimmed and the nurses hurried away, he heard a high-pitched howl, and realized that it was him.

* * *

The wolf cub's eyes surveyed the small area around him, his sharp, canine senses filling with the scent of metal and blood. He scratched at the door then drew back in pain, mouth opening in a small cry. He didn't like this. He pushed his head against the bars until he felt blood, then stumbled back. The soft, down fur on his head was damp and sticky with it. 

He scratched at his own skin in his desperation to run, to feel grass beneath him, and the trees brushing past him, messying his fur. His eyes gleamed yellow, any signs of the amber brown gone to the wolf senses that flooded his mind and body.

* * *

"There's no cure? Cher Dieu! 

Il n'est pas se plus.

He's not himself anymore."

"There's nothing we can do, ma'am."

"Je veux mon fils...

I want my son!"

"He's still here. He's not dead."

"Cette créature n'est pas mon fils...

That creature is not my son."

"We're sorry, ma'am."

* * *

"Maman..._mama_?"

The nurses didn't know how to approach the little boy, didn't know how to tell him that his mother wasn't there. That she wasn't coming back. None of them wanted to speak to him. None of them wanted to touch him. The sound of his voice broke their hearts, but none of them would touch him.


	2. Chapter 1: Remus

Title: La Lune pleine Elevée (Full Moon Risen)

Rating:T

Thank-you's: Jamie88, Bryseis much thanks for the great reviews. I'm really glad you like it.

A/N: I didn't know what town to put Remus in due to my lack of knowledge of small towns in England. It's close enough to London to get there by train...that's about all I've got. Oh, and only the first five or so chapters will be in first person (I hate writing it), enough for Remus, Peter, Sirius, James, and Lily each to have a chapter from their POV.

* * *

Chapter 1: Remus 

My mother means well. She really does. She just has a hard time understanding everything. It's never easy to raise a son alone...or at least, that's what she says. I try to help out as much as I can, but she usually just ends up doing it herself and leaving me to find something to do. I suppose that's why I like books so much. They provide a proper escape.

I know I'm a burden. What with my...problem. And my questions.

I'd learned to stop asking questions, though. It seemed to make life easier.

I didn't really need to know why I turned into a monster at the full moon...or why I dream of forests then wake up screaming in a language I didn't understand. Not really.

I watch her now from where I sit outside, a book open on my lap. She stands at the kitchen counter, her head bent down, her fair hair coarse and nothing like my own. Her eyes are blue. Mine are amber...almost yellow-gold in the sunlight. I don't look at all like her. I wonder why.

"_If music be the food of love, play on..._" I murmured the line beneath my breath as my eyes fell back to the book. I'd been out there for an hour and I hadn't gotten past that. There were other things on my mind.

I looked up at the sky, blue and perfect as summer was meant to be. That's what the books tell me, at least. I assume it must be true. Suddenly a flash of brown darted across it, though, and I started. An owl? A phrase wandered into my mind, sudden as lightning.

"Les hiboux volent pour la lune.." I whispered, shocked at the words, "The owls fly for the moon..." I watched the tawny creature as it swooped down and landed on the ground in front of me, regarding me with yellow eyes, not unlike my own. I saw the envelope attached to his leg and frowned. This couldn't be normal. My hands began to shake as I reached out and carefully undid the ties. The owl bit down gently on my thumb, but I could tell it was affectionate. With that, it rose slightly on its thin legs and flew back up through the sky. I watched it go, then quietly slipped the parchment from the yellowed envelope.

_Mr. Lupin..._

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..._

Lupin? So it wasn't for me. It was just a joke. My heart sank but I chided myself. What was I expecting anyway? I turned the envelope to inspect the spidery writing on the front.

_Mr. Remus Lupin_

_The Bedroom at the End of the Hall_

_The Smallest House in Town _

Maybe it was for me. My hands shook as I stood and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

"What is it?" My mother looked from me to the envelope in one deft motion. I handed it to her wordlessly, and she scanned it, her eyes moving in her harsh, blunt way, killing the words that I wanted to savor for myself.

"Well, then. I guess that is that." Her accent seemed thicker then normal. Not like mine, that held the slightest lilt to it and made her eyes burn every time I spoke, "You've figured it out, then?"

Had I?

"You aren't my real mother." My voice seemed foreign and hollow, "A-are you?"

"No. Saw you at the orphanage, just a little thing, all bones and scars. They said your ma had left you after an accident and you hadn't anybody. That's when I took you home." She laughed, but it held no humor, "They didn't tell me what you were. Or that you turned into a bloody wolf every month."

"Bet that was a shock." I sounded bitter and I knew it. It was getting too hard to pretend not to be.

"That it was."

"So. What do we do now?" My voice still didn't seem like my own and certaintly not that of an eleven-year-old. I had always been older then I should have.

"I guess we have to buy these..._things._" I stared at her calmly.

"I suppose."

* * *

The late heat of summer pressed against us like a weight as we walked down the street. An hour earlier we had met a man who apparently recognized us and showed us how to get onto the street we were on now. Diagon Alley. Like nothing I'd ever seen before, all a mix of herb-scent and swishing robes. I hadn't understood exactly what the letter was saying until now. This _was_ magic, the smells and the taste of excitement and sweat on my tongue and the feel of it in the air. 

The list of supplies was held tightly in one of my hands as we moved. My...I don't know whether to call her my mother anymore, but it will be a hard habit to break. Her eyes were wide as if they were trying to take in everything, as if this was a dream that she couldn't dreamed, and she never wanted to go back to her old life. She pointed out a sign, then stared forlornly at the coins in her purse. She had exchanged money in at the bank and they were now oddly shaped beacons of silver and gold and copper, the heavy smell of metal making my nose itch as I ran my fingers over them.

We went into the shop without a word to each other. We seemed to be beyond them, unable to form something to describe it.

* * *

A few hours later we sat on the sidewalk, tired and panting, our bags sitting motionless at our feet. We exchanged more then ten words between us and were now watching people walk by. 

I noticed one boy walking a few feet behind someone who was obviously his mother. They both had the same black hair and gray eyes that looked like diamonds and that you could see from any distance. They both had the same proud look on their face, but hers was spiteful and his was...something else.

He saw me watching and I saw his lips twitch in the slightest of quicksilver smiles as he got lost in the crowd.

Maybe this was all going to work out for the better.

Maybe.


	3. Chapter 2: Sirius

Title: La Lune pleine Elevee

Rating: T

Thank-you's: Jamie88! Again! For being the only reviewer...Remus gives you a hug.

A/N: Due to school and the list of 13 books I have to read by November (7 to go) I decided to not do the whole 5-6 p.o.v's and just do Remus and Sirius. Unless something marvelous and extremely improbable happens (like _snow)_ that gives me endless amounts of time and infinite creative energy. This is marvelously and horribly short, but I want to get to the rest of the story.

* * *

Chapter 2: Sirius 

"Get down here now or I'm leaving without you!"

There are several things I hate in this world, but of all of them, my mother's voice is the one I hate the most. It's high and cold in all the ways that make you want to strangle her rather than listen another second.

"Sirius!"

She was getting angry now. I ran my hand through my hair as I stood in front of the mirror, watching in satisfaction as it stood out at all angles. She hated it like that. I loved it when she hated things.

"Sirius Black!"

She was _livid._ She only associated me with the Black family when she was about to explode.

"I'm coming!" I called pleasantly, grabbing my jacket and taking the steps one at a time.

* * *

The streets of Diagon Alley were crowded and noisy as we walked, my mother three or four feet ahead of me the whole time. She said she had "had enough" and was "tired of me." The obvious, everyday things in our relationship as it stood. 

I let my eyes wander until they met another pair, amber-brown and gold, that made me stop in my tracks. The boy was small and pale and obviously exhausted, his bags sprawled out next to him where he sat on the sidewalk. His eyes looked ages older than he did and he stared back in a quiet, soft way that made me smile as my mother grabbed me by the color and yanked me away.

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my neck as she pushed me forward, "What was _that_ about?"

"I should be asking you the same thing!" she hissed violently, "Do you know that..that..._boy_?"

"No." It took all my strength to keep from laughing at her, "Never met him. Why?"

"They shouldn't let that kind in here..." she said as we continued walking, "It makes the rest of us look bad. Did you see the state of his clothing?" My fists clenched unconsciously, "His mother must be a muggle and a beggared one, at that." My breath came sharply. I didn't quite know why I was getting angry but I felt the need to stand up for the kid, whoever he was. Her eyes were flashing as she ranted on. She was in one of her passions and anyone who interrupted one of those...well, they don't often make it away well. Many a servant has been fired from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black because of it. I decided to hold my tongue. I would be leaving for school soon enough.

"Right." I murmured, not hearing her question and shifting my bags to my other hand.

* * *

My house was inhumanly large. It was one of those where you could make your way to your bedroom, take a wrong turn, and get lost for the rest of your night. It had hidden rooms and staircases and (or, at least, I think) more than one dungeon where my family hides some...disreputable things. And in which my mother probably hides the bodies of the muggle postal workers she often threatens. 

The only room that I trusted to be entirely safe was my own. I had managed to sneak up some Quidditch posters to hide the wallpaper and the rest of it was engulfed in my belongings. Hurricane Sirius. My pride and joy.

Today my school books were spread about over the bedspread and onto the floor, the perfect, crisp pages wrinkling slightly in the disarray. My wand lay on my mantle. My owl perched neatly on my bedpost, staring with it's imposing, amber eyes that reminded me of someone...

Merlin curse it. I hadn't been able to stop thinking of that boy. I kept seeing him in my mind, like some kind of omen, but I didn't know what was so special about him other than those bloody ridiculous eyes. I picked up my transfiguration book again, then sighed. No magic outside of school. Worst rule they ever made. I flipped open the cover and began to read.


End file.
